Ouroboros
by CCroquette
Summary: From the kink meme. The prompt: Nations can't die, but it doesn't stop them from trying.


_Beep._

_Beep. _

_Beep._

Denmark's voice breaks the silence, too loud in the little room. "I dunno why he'd do it anyway. It's not like we stay dead."

Silence, again.

Sweden hears clothes rustling and he knows the others have turned to look at him, watching for a reaction. There is none. He stays as he is, unspeaking, his gaze never leaving the body in front of him.

The silence stretches out, punctuated by mechanical beeping, and finally Iceland answers, "Does _he_ know that, though? I don't think he's ever died before."

Norway mutters, darkly, "Knowing doesn't stop people."

Sweden says nothing. Two weeks, now, since it happened. Two weeks since he found him. Two weeks of silence, broken only by the rhythm of the machines and the others' occasional halfhearted attempts at conversation. Two weeks, and all he can do is sit here and watch him and wait.

They don't know if it makes a difference, having him here. He's not dead. He won't die. It doesn't work that way. Still, the body has to heal itself. Maybe the machines help.

Sweden hopes they help.

No one knows how long it'll take, hell, no one even knows why it happened. He didn't bother leaving a note.

He must have thought the gunshot wound to the head was self-explanatory.

Involuntarily, Sweden looks up, to where clean bandages mask the injuries. His face looks so unnatural like that, washed-out and devoid of its omnipresent smile. Sweden swallows.

He was smiling when -

Denmark puts a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, you need a break."

He shakes his head, says nothing. He doesn't move. He's not leaving him, not like this. Leaving him alone was how this happened.

"How long has it been since you've eaten something?"

He doesn't know.

Denmark sighs. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

It doesn't matter.

"You need a shower, at least. You smell."

He doesn't care.

"I'm serious." He can hear the smirk from Denmark and at any other time it might have bothered him but now - Denmark doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except Finland. "You stink. If he wakes up the stench'll probably kill him for real -"

_If?!_

He jumps to his feet, lunging for Denmark, and lands a punch before he realizes what he's doing - if he starts a fight, here, they'll make him leave. He draws back, but doesn't apologize.

Denmark rubs his jaw, still smirking. "Aha, you're still in there! Good."

Is it?

Denmark's face sobers, and before Sweden can turn away he takes him by the arm, and looks him in the eye. "Come on. You need to take care of yourself. He'd want you to take care of yourself."

Sweden almost hits him again - how can anyone know what he'd want, when he's like _this?_ How dare Denmark presume - but stops, because he sees the point. Still, he can't just _leave_ him.

"Look," Denmark says, "Norway and Iceland are here with him, okay? If anything happens they'll call you right away." Denmark looks over at them; they both nod hastily. Sweden realizes he must look like shit.

He doesn't move.

"Do you want to end up hospitalized, too? Come on."

"Please go get some rest," says Iceland, "Everything will be fine."

Norway gives him a concerned look. "You need to look after yourself. Go. We'll let you know as soon as anything changes."

Denmark's voice softens, cajoling. "Sve, if you don't come with me I'm going to make you."

He hesitates, and then Denmark tugs his arm, and he steps forward.

* * *

Denmark drives them back to Sweden's house - and it's true, he's gotten so little sleep recently, there's no way he's safe to drive. When they arrive Hanatamago goes crazy over him, because all she's seen lately is Denmark, come to feed her and let her out. Sweden stoops to pet her, once, and stops, because looking at her only reminds him of Finland.

She'd been trying to wake him up -

Denmark gives her a pat, and lets her outside, and then pushes him into the bathroom and shuts the door. "You take a shower and I'll make some food. Don't make me come in there and scrub you."

He does as he's told, numbly, not really paying attention to anything he does. He gets soap in his eyes and doesn't care. When he steps out he finds a stack of clean clothes waiting for him, and puts them on. The pants are too loose in the waist.

Denmark's made them dinner - or is it breakfast, or is it lunch? He doesn't know. Spaghetti.

"All your fresh stuff went bad, but you had noodles and sauce, so…" He hands him a bowl, and a fork, and quickly herds Sweden into the living room, out of sight of the kitchen.

The kitchen was where Sweden found him.

"You need to eat."

He does, not noticing the taste.

Denmark takes the dishes when he's finished. "I'll take care of this. You go get some sleep."

What point is there in arguing? He makes it as far as the doorway to the bedroom, where he stops. The sheets are still rumpled -

- he'd left for work early, while Finland was still in bed. And Finland had smiled at him, and kissed him goodbye just like always and -

- when he came home -

Maybe he should have stayed later.

Maybe he shouldn't have gone.

He should have -

The room wavers as tears blur his vision. If he'd have done things differently then maybe -

His knees give way and he grabs the doorframe too late, and ends up on the floor. The sound brings Denmark running. He crouches, and puts a hand on Sweden's shoulder. "You okay?"

No.

He's neglectful and _blind_ and he should have -

" 'S my fault," he mumbles hoarsely. "My fault. Jus' _left_ him -"

His voice gives out.

Gently, Denmark gets him up and steers him back to the living room. He sits them both down on the couch and puts an arm around him, and Sweden's first instinct is to shrug it off - but as he tries an ugly ragged sob wells its way up his throat and he finds himself clinging to Denmark instead.

"Hey," Denmark says softly. "It's not your fault."

Sweden shakes his head, as Denmark's hold on his shoulders tightens.

"It's _not_. He chose to do it. It might not have been anything to do with you."

Somehow that thought is even worse. Didn't Finland know that he could tell him - didn't he trust -

If he hadn't been so intimidating, maybe -

"No," Sweden whispers. "Should've -" His voice catches and before he can speak again Denmark interrupts.

"It's _not your fault_. Sometimes you get so wrapped up in things that that's all you think about, and you just don't…" Denmark sighs, heavily, and smiles a hollow smile. "I tried it once. I think a lot of us do, eventually."

Sweden never has.

"And it's fine now. He's gonna be fine, too."

Sweden closes his eyes. He wants to believe it.

Over-large, clumsy hands stroke through his hair, soothing.

* * *

He wakes up - how much later; he's not sure - still on the couch, a blanket tucked around him and a pillow underneath his head. His glasses have been moved to the coffee table. He picks them up, puts them on, and reads the clock. 7 A.M. He slept for fifteen hours.

He checks his phone. No new messages.

Denmark bought groceries while he was asleep. He makes toast and coffee and unceremoniously plunks them down on the coffee table. "You need to eat breakfast."

Sweden eats.

Half an hour later they step through the door into Finland's room and Sweden finds that nothing's changed. Norway and Iceland exchange empty pleasantries and leave, and it's just as it was - just has it has been for two weeks, only silence and stillness and machines. Sweden is silent, too, until:

" 'f it doesn' work, then _why_?"

"Because you hope that maybe this time it does."

_Beep. _

_Beep. _

_Beep._


End file.
